Rude Awakening
by Lea Woods
Summary: There was something wonderful about basking in the warm sunshine early in the morning. Something wonderful about sleeping those extra five minutes. Then Percy had to go and ruin everything.


Title: Rude Awakening

Author: Lea Woods

Pairing: Percy Weasley/ Oliver Wood

Fandom: Harry Potter

Theme: #3 – Jolt!

Rating: PG

Spoilers: N/A 

Disclaimer: The characters contained herein aren't mine, though the premise of the piece is. It is in no way intended for monetary gain, on entertainment purposes. Characters and Hogwarts are copyright J.K. Rowling and her respective publishers.

Warnings: Slashy fluff or fluffy slash, depending on how you look at it. Innuendo galore! A little more graphic than usual, one swear word…blah.

Summary: Oliver was intent on staying in bed as long as possible, except…there was someone else in his bed. Someone soft and warm and…and well, someone male. What? No, he wouldn't look yet. He had to be dreaming…

Author's Notes: Intended as a sequel to, "Starry, Starry Night," and, "Smile," though it can stand on its own.

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He was warm, comfortable under the worn sheets. School sheets were so much more comfortable than the ones on his bed at home. You couldn't buy sheets as soft as Hogwarts sheets were. It wasn't that they had a higher thread count or whatever it was that the girls were always exclaiming over, but rather that they had been washed so many dozens of times that the fibers were either exquisitely soft or practically nonexistent. The sun creeping through the windows made one side of his face feel pleasantly hot. He felt like somehow he had slept for six months and skipped the end of winter, clear until the brilliant warmth of May.

Sighing half in content, half in the regret that he was actually awake, he shifted a little without opening his eyes. His mind kept whispering that it was morning, he should get up. He had things to do, younger siblings of someone else's' to torment, a Quidditch team to beat into shape…Stubbornly, Oliver ignored it, mentally bargaining for just five more minutes of bliss, and perhaps another five after that...

Bliss that was compounded seconds later by the feeling of a soft palm tracing patterns on his chest. He knew suddenly why he was warmer than usual: someone else was in his bed. His breath caught. Someone else was in his bed. _Who was…?_ Mind racing, he swallowed hard and resisted the urge to either flinch away or open his eyes. The someone shifted into the curves of his body and Oliver's pulse quickened a little more.

"Oliver…" came a husky whisper.

He recognized that voice. Involuntarily, his eyes started to open and he clenched them tightly shut. No, he wouldn't look just yet. It had to be a dream. There was no way that…that _he_ was in his bed…that would be too good to be true, too perfect…

"Oliver," he heard again, the voice no louder but growing steadily clearer. "Are you awake?"

Resolutely, Oliver shook his head negatively.

"You should really get up."

He shook his head again, immediately feigning sleep.

"Oliver, really." The voice was louder, more urgent, but he still wasn't going to open his eyes.

There were a few moments of silence. He managed to drift back into his sun-induced coma. It was so nice, the contact on his skin, the warmth of someone else, of the sun on his face…

"Oliver." The voice breaking through the haze was somewhat less amused. In fact, it was beginning to sound downright agitated.

Nope. Still wasn't going to look. If he was good he could pretend he was still out cold.

"I know you're awake, Oliver."

"No I'm not," Oliver couldn't help but mutter, turning resolutely over onto his side, away from the verbal assault and unfortunately, from the warmth he had been savoring.

The drapes were torn back and a second later the sheets were ripped off with such ferocity that there was an audible _snap_. Instinctively, the Scot curled up into a tight ball and clenched his eyes even more tightly.

Nothing.

Despite the sudden chill, he found himself drifting off again, a soft smile on his face. He had won at last. Even if it did mean he was hovering precariously on the edge of the mattress.

"Wood!" The shout was combined with about two quarts of icy water hitting his bare form.

Instinctively, Oliver rolled away from the affront and felt himself falling. "_Shit_," he muttered, just before he hit the stone floor hard. His ribs felt like he had just fallen off of his broom twenty feet to the pitch. "Yes?" He managed to groan with the little breath he had left, cracking a bleary eye open.

"You're late," Percy said dryly, walking out of the room and shutting the door crisply behind him.

Oliver groaned, but got up. He staggered back a few paces, bracing a dripping hand on his four-poster and looked back at his now sodden sheets. Three of the House cats looked up at him and purred contentedly. Another was sitting in front of the closed door, licking his wet fur in disgust.

"Don' blame me," he muttered. "Blame the git in glasses." The cats on his bed only purred louder while the one in front of the door, in typical cat style, ignored him. "On the bright side," he groaned. "Now I don't have to shower…"

Ten minutes later he was stomping toward the Great Hall, books in hand. As he left the Common room and passed the now infamous alcoves, the girl he had come to despise stuck her head out and shot him a look.

"What, no boyfriend today?" she snickered. "No snogging for the poor Quidditch captain, how sad."

"None for me either, it seems," came a more masculine voice from behind the curtain. The girl disappeared again.

Oliver kept walking. He knew he was scowling, but he didn't care. In the hall, he dropped his books very pointedly on the table across from Percy, who was very primly drinking a cup of tea while he read the Daily Prophet.

"Tough morning, Ol?" one of the twins asked, with almost genuine concern.

"Sod off."

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_fin_

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End file.
